


For Wealth, or Honors, or for Worldly State

by Tam_Cranver



Category: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (TV 1996)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/pseuds/Tam_Cranver
Summary: Gilbert had always supposed that when he found the woman he wanted to marry, the trick would be getting the girl herself to agree. Perhaps, he thought as he looked around the table at those gathered for his mother’s tea, he had mistaken the situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoundandColor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoundandColor/gifts).



Gilbert had always supposed that when he found the woman he wanted to marry, the trick would be getting the girl herself to agree. He’d always been able to talk his mother around, Rose and Fergus might complain but were amiable enough that eventually they’d all be fast friends, and Gilbert didn’t give a damn what anybody else thought. Especially after he realized that he would never love another the way he loved Helen Graham—prickly, stubborn, proud, clever, devoted, wonderful Helen Graham—he knew that to win her love would be the mountain after which all other obstacles would seem as gentle hills. 

Perhaps, he thought as he looked around the table at those gathered for his mother’s tea, he had mistaken the situation. 

Richard Wilson and his new bride seemed happy enough—ignorant of all in the room besides themselves, but happy enough. But as for the rest! The Reverend Millward, it having been impressed upon him in the strongest possible terms that his remarks about Mrs. Huntingdon’s moral character had been grossly unfounded and that if he were to utter another word against that saintly personage, Gilbert would remove his head from his shoulders, was in the corner speaking to nobody but his daughter and Gilbert’s mother, and to them in icy tones. Rose had privately said in an earlier aside to Gilbert that she thought that the Reverend could not stand the thought of humbling himself before anyone, much less a woman to whom he had been so savage before, and Gilbert thought that she was probably right but didn’t particularly care. Rose herself was anxiously trying to mediate between Jane Wilson, who had been obsequiously making up to Helen ever since she learned that Helen was not only not an adulteress but was also Mr. Lawrence’s sister, from the most respectable of families, and an heiress besides, and Helen herself, who had no patience for hypocrites or flatterers. Fergus was shoveling food into his mouth as if he were some starveling beggar, and Mother was too busy trying to placate Reverend Millward and Helen even to chide him. The scene was not, Gilbert reflect, best suited to convince Helen that to marry Gilbert would bring lifelong happiness. Lifelong indigestion, more like. 

Arthur Huntingdon, meanwhile, was utterly fascinated with Rose’s kitten. 

“Careful, Arthur,” warned Helen, turning her head from Jane Wilson. “Don’t poke at the cat, she’ll scratch.” 

“Oh, she won’t,” cried Rose, eager for a change in subject from Jane’s discourse on the boarding school she’d attended. “Here, Arthur, feel how soft she is!” She placed the squirming kitten in Arthur’s lap, where it promptly slipped and ended up in an awkward position half hanging off his leg. 

“Oh,” breathed Arthur in awe. The kitten mewed piteously, and Arthur picked it up to sit it on his leg more firmly and stare deeply into its eyes. Helen looked mildly concerned, but lay her hand on Arthur’s curls for a moment before determinedly pulling her attention back to Rose. 

“Thank you, Miss Markham,” she said politely. “Arthur is becoming quite interested in animals since we have returned to Wildfell.” 

The Reverend Millward made a harrumphing sound. “I suppose,” he said, “that you’ll be keeping him at home to play with cats rather than sending him to school to learn about the world.” He snorted. “He shall be capable of nothing but embroidery and cooing at puppies, if you have your way.” It took everyone present a moment to realize that he had addressed Helen; it was the first time he had spoken to her throughout the meal. 

“And I suppose there’s nothing worthwhile to learn about animals, is there,” Gilbert said sharply. He had never been to boarding school, and he rather thought he had come out all right. 

But he needn’t have said anything, because Helen’s eyes flashed and she fixed the Reverend with a look that would have made the Queen tremble in her boots. “Reverend Millward,” she said, “I am not interested in sending my son away to be educated in brutality and wicked habits. I am perfectly capable of teaching him until he is old enough to understand what he must learn and what he must shun, and I’ll thank you not to scorn him for showing kindness to a helpless small creature.” 

In the silence that fell after this pronouncement, Gilbert’s mother asked, “More tea, Mrs. Gra—Mrs. Huntingdon?” with an air of desperation. 

The fire went out of Helen’s eyes and she said, “Thank you, Mrs. Markham,” as cordial as you please. 

“And how is Mr. Lawrence?” asked Jane Wilson as Mother poured the tea. Gilbert thought that she rather fancied marrying Mr. Lawrence, now that Helen was no rival. Gilbert had to laugh inwardly at the thought. As if Mr. Lawrence would marry a woman his sister thought so ill of. Then he had to wonder if Helen would marry a man her brother thought ill of, and he found he didn’t feel like laughing anymore. 

“Frederick is well,” said Helen. “He has been kind enough to go to London to speak with the solicitors on my behalf. I’m afraid the property at Grassdale is sadly neglected. There are a great many debts to be paid and repairs to be made to the tenants’ cottages and lands.” 

“Oh, indeed,” said Jane sympathetically. Must have liked the idea that Helen wasn’t so much richer than her after all, thought Gilbert bitterly. 

“I’m sure Gilbert would be happy to help with the farms,” offered Rose. “I shouldn’t expect much in the way of help in household management from him, but he’s quite clever with land and livestock.” 

“Oh, she shouldn’t expect much help, should she?” asked Gilbert in a tone that he hoped conveyed what he truly meant: _What on earth are you playing at, Rose?_ Under the table, he could see, Mother was trying and failing to bring her foot down harshly upon Rose’s. 

Rose, blithely ignoring both of them, said, “Everyone told him that the land on Long Hill was good only for grazing, but he was determined to plant wheat there, and you wouldn’t believe how it’s growing! We shall have a harvest there in the fall to rival any in the county.” 

Helen gave Gilbert a warm look and said, “To be sure, I would welcome any advice Mr. Markham should wish to give in the matter of farm improvements.” 

Gilbert forgot Rose instantly and reached to take Helen’s hand. Mother cleared her throat, and he reluctantly withdrew his hand. “So,” said Mother with determined good cheer, “when shall we expect Mr. Lawrence back among us?” 

“He hopes to return a fortnight from now,” said Helen. Her face was composed, but Gilbert could see a faint flush under her freckles, and he smiled to think that he had put it there. 

The Reverend Millward made a disapproving noise, and suddenly Helen’s face was set in solemn lines, and Gilbert genuinely wanted to wipe the scowl off the Reverend’s face with his fists. 

“Well,” said the Reverend, “one can only hope that the new master of Grassdale Manor shall avoid the vices of the late Mr. Huntingdon. As it is said in the Gospel of Matthew, ‘it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.’” 

Gilbert felt as if the Reverend had thrown a bucket of cold water upon him; his rage burned that icy. To insinuate that Gilbert would become some drunken brute like Huntingdon! To sneer ‘the new master of Grassdale Manor’ at him, as if Gilbert intended to live like a prince in that palace off of Helen’s money! To throw the Bible at him, as if he had the right to throw around his authority in this house! 

Of all people, Eliza Wilson spoke up and said, “Oh, Papa, surely it’s improper to speak like that when Gilbert and Mrs. Huntingdon haven’t even announced their engagement.” 

It was not, perhaps, the defense Gilbert would have chosen. But indeed, it broke the tension, and Fergus stopped eating long enough to say, “What sort of repairs do the farms need?” 

“Nothing so very grand, I think,” said Helen. “As the Reverend Millward said, my late husband was rather more given to self-indulgence than he was to mending roofs or cleaning irrigation ditches. I shall make a journey there in a month’s time to speak with the estate manager. There are some thousand acres, so I’m afraid there is rather a lot to do.” 

“Of course,” said Gilbert’s mother, looking a bit dazed. Gilbert couldn’t blame her. He was taken aback himself. A thousand acres. A year’s income from that would be more than Gilbert had ever seen in his life at one time. “Well. Of course we are happy to offer any assistance we can.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Markham,” Helen said. Her tone was all warmth and gratitude, but Gilbert was still mired in the sudden worry that had risen in him. Surely Helen didn’t think Gilbert was interested in being lord of Grassdale Manor or any nonsense like that—she couldn’t possibly believe that that was why he had pressed her for an earlier wedding date. Surely she couldn’t think as the Reverend Millward did—that Gilbert was only looking for an excuse to laze about and drink her money. 

Gilbert had been drinking a rather nice port that his mother brought out for guests, but suddenly it tasted sour in his mouth and he pushed it away. Helen gave him a curious look but said nothing. 

Suddenly Arthur cried out. “Mama!” he exclaimed. “The kitty scratched me!” 

“Didn’t I tell you she would?” said Helen calmly, drawing the boy into her lap. The kitten leaped to the floor with a disgruntled _miao._ “Now let me look at it.” She drew a handkerchief from the pocket at her waist and dabbed at the little scratch. 

“Oh, dear,” said Mother. “Let me fetch some honey and a bandage for that.” 

While Mother bustled about, Gilbert watched as Helen with implacable gentleness soothed Arthur down from a building tantrum. When the wound was tended and the tears dried, she said, “And you won’t pick up the kitty when she doesn’t want to be picked up again, will you?” 

“No, mama,” said Arthur dutifully. Gilbert reached out to ruffle his hair, feeling an overwhelming fondness for both mother and child. 

“Cheer up, Master Arthur. You be good and do as your mother says, and I’ll take you to see the lambs out at the clover pasture.” 

Arthur perked up at that. “ _Will_ you?” 

Gilbert shrugged and met Helen’s eyes. “If your mother says it’s all right.” 

Helen smiled. “Well. _If_ you’re good.” 

When all the guests had left at last, Mother looked up from clearing the table and said, “I’ll admit, Gilbert, she’s not as cold as I was used to think her. I believe she must have been used very cruelly by that husband of hers, to make her run from him so, and to be sure she’s very fond of her little boy. But….” 

And here she hesitated. Gilbert felt irritated, and said, “Surely you can’t object to her family or fortune, Mother. I’d take her with neither, and gladly, but you can’t complain about her thousand acres of land, and you certainly can’t call her a flighty, useless thing as you did Eliza Millward.” 

“I don’t, of course I don’t,” Mother said, “but can such a woman truly devote herself to a husband again?” 

“Can she wait hand and foot on him, she means,” grumbled Rose. “Heaven forbid that a woman should have a mind and a will of her own.” 

“Nobody asked you, my girl,” said Mother tartly. “Your brother ought to have a wife who’ll care for him, and between her thousand acres and her son—and her relatives, who’ll be none too keen on her marrying again so quickly, you can take it from me—I only fear she won’t have the time or the inclination for wifely duties. Particularly when her only experience with men has been so bad.” 

“‘Wifely duties,’ my foot,” scoffed Rose, but Gilbert found he could not laugh so easily. 

“You have no _idea_ of the depths of Helen’s devotion,” he told his mother, thinking, as he had a thousand times before, of Helen willingly returning to Grassdale to nurse her bastard of a husband, to—to give him tea and lay cloths on his head, when he had done nothing but belittle and dishonor and hurt her. If she could do all that for a man who made no effort to deserve her, then surely she could love Gilbert, who, if he had no wealth or fancy education or manor house to offer her, had a respectable farm and a decent income and most importantly of all a heart that was fully hers. 

“If you say so, lad,” said Mother dubiously. Then, “Fergus! Take those boots off, you’ll get mud all over the floor!” 

In the days and weeks that followed, nothing, thought Gilbert, seemed to change all that much. Helen gave no signs that she was thinking of breaking off their—well, it wasn’t exactly an engagement, but as good as, an agreement that they’d get married if neither of them changed their minds by the end of the summer. Gilbert let Arthur come to visit his lambs while he explained about what they ate and how they were sheared and what the wool market was like, while Helen stood by and listened. Helen painted lovely landscapes of the moors awakening under the warmth of spring, occasionally remarking upon something her aunt or brother had said in a letter, while Gilbert stood by and watched the painting come to life under her hands. Rose and Fergus visited Wildfell Hall with Gilbert, and Gilbert watched as Rose and Helen spoke, Helen smiling more and more and Rose’s natural friendliness becoming true friendship, while Fergus and Arthur played with Lancelot, the puppy Gilbert had given Arthur. 

They would be happy together, Gilbert told himself. He loved Helen, and she loved him, and all the pounds and acres in the world couldn’t change that. 

The time came when Helen was preparing to make the journey to Grassdale. As she was explaining to Gilbert what she planned to discuss with the estate manager and how long she planned to be gone, she gave Gilbert a searching, uncharacteristically hesitant look. 

“What is it, Helen?” he asked. 

Helen sighed. “My aunt and uncle’s house, Staningley, lies between here and Grassdale Manor, and I believe I will stay a night with them before arriving at Grassdale the next afternoon. They are quite eager to meet you.” 

“Are they?” asked Gilbert, not precisely happy. If his niece had married a devil and finally gotten rid of her, he couldn’t imagine that he’d be any too pleased to meet the next young man after her hand, particularly if he were from the exalted circles Helen was from and the young man in question was a yeoman farmer. Not that Gilbert didn’t have plenty to recommend him, mind, but he wasn’t sure his were the sort of qualities Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell would appreciate. 

“They are,” said Helen seriously. “I know that you have much to occupy you at home, but if you could spare a day, my aunt and uncle have extended an invitation to tea.” 

Gilbert took a deep breath. He wanted to sit down at tea with Helen’s aunt and uncle about as much as he wanted to wrestle a bear. But if he was to be a true husband to her—the sort he wanted to be, the sort to bear burdens equally with her and to make her path in the world easier rather than harder—he would have to be at least on speaking terms with her aunt and uncle, who were as good as parents to her and whom she loved dearly. “All right,” he said. “Fergus and Joe can manage for a day.” 

Helen smiled. 

The country around Staningley was lovely—not wheat land, Gilbert noted, but nice lush forests that would be good hunting, and he reckoned there would be good fishing in the stream that ran parallel to the road. The house itself was grand, but not so imposing as Grassdale, and Gilbert flattered himself to think he could get along all right. 

He had clearly been deluding himself. 

Mr. Maxwell didn’t speak much but observed everything. More than once Gilbert caught the man’s keen eye on him as he sipped his tea, feeling like perhaps he ought to have worn his best waistcoat and not the one his mother had recently mended. Not that Mother’s mending wasn’t expert, but still. Mrs. Maxwell spoke, but in tones of icy civility that had Gilbert wanting to demand what wrong he had ever done her. He kept hold of his temper for Helen’s sake; Helen had been delighted to see her aunt and uncle, embracing them when she and Gilbert had arrived at Staningley as if she would never let them go. Gilbert knew that she had visited them after Huntingdon’s death, but he rather thought that she hadn’t been able to see much of them while he lived. 

Arthur and Rachel went to the nursery while Gilbert and Helen had tea with the Maxwells. Gilbert wished with a longing unworthy of a grown man that he could have gone with them. 

“Mr. Markham,” said Mrs. Maxwell. “I gather you are acquainted with my nephew?” 

That was one word for it, thought Gilbert wryly. He and Lawrence hadn’t gotten in any fist fights since Helen’s journey to Grassdale to care for Huntingdon, but he suspected there would always be just a bit of animosity to their relationship. “I know him, ma’am,” he answered. “He’s well-known in the village. The children thought Wildfell Hall haunted until Mrs. Huntingdon took up residence, and to be the owner of a haunted manor is no small excitement in such a town.” 

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Maxwell archly. Damn the woman, thought Gilbert, could she not have smiled the least bit? 

“Frederick and Mr. Markham are not the best of friends,” broke in Helen, “but Frederick assures me has always had the highest regard for Mr. Markham’s honor and sense of duty.” 

This was news to Gilbert, and he thought that if Lawrence actually thought such things, he ought to have had the decency to tell Gilbert that rather than smirk at him all the time, but Gilbert supposed that when you beat a man under the mistaken belief that he was having untoward relations with his sister, you could count yourself lucky if smirking was the worst you got. 

Mr. Maxwell grunted. “I hear you raise sheep?” 

“I do, sir,” said Gilbert, grateful for a topic upon which he could expound freely. He described his lands, his flocks, the prices he had been able to get for wool and wheat at market, the bad winter three years ago and how they had recovered, and everything else he could think of, to an impassive audience of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell and a slightly more interested one of Helen. 

When he had finished, Helen said, “Mr. Markham has kindly offered to help advise me on the matter of farm improvements at Grassdale. He is very skilled at husbandry and at seeing the qualities of a piece of land, and I am sure he will be a great help to me.” 

“So I see,” said Mrs. Maxwell, cool as ever. “And what is your family, Mr. Markham?” 

Gilbert could feel himself flushing. “My father inherited our farm from his father, and maintained every acre of it by honest labor, and my mother is the best and kindest of women. I’ve a younger brother and sister, and I’m fond of both of them as well. I hope that has answered your question.” 

Helen reached out to pat his hand comfortingly—Gilbert wasn’t sure whether to feel pleased or condescended to—and said, “The Markhams were very kind to me when I came to Wildfell, and they have been good friends since.” 

Mrs. Maxwell smiled and said, “I am happy to hear it,” though she didn’t sound especially happy. She helped herself to a tea cake which she promptly ignored in favor of asking whether Gilbert had ever been engaged to be married before. 

The meal was torturous. Gilbert wondered if this was what it had been like for Helen all those months ago, to sit in Gilbert’s parlor and endure the scorn from Reverend Millward and Eliza and Jane and—well, his mother had never had scorn for Helen, but she had certainly found her strange and unpleasant and had pestered her with unwanted advice about the neighborhood and about raising Arthur. Gilbert had admired her calm then, her forthright honesty about her beliefs and about what she would and would not do tempered with her genuine willingness to try and talk to people who were nothing but rude to her. He wondered how he measured up in comparison, to her eyes. Probably not nearly so well. 

At long last, Helen said, “I must see how Arthur and Rachel are getting on,” and rose from the table. 

“I’ll come with you,” said Gilbert, but Mrs. Maxwell interjected. 

“Please, Mr. Markham, do stay. Abigail will bring out the sandwiches in a minute, and my niece won’t be long, I am sure.” 

Helen gave her aunt a narrow-eyed glance and said, “No, I will not.” 

Gilbert had a most unmanly urge to beg her not to leave him alone with the Maxwells, but he swallowed it, and instead said, “You might tell Arthur to take Lancelot out for a run; the poor thing’s been cooped up in a carriage all day.” He didn't specify whether he was referring to the boy or the dog; it could have applied to either of them, and equally well to Gilbert himself. 

“I will,” said Helen, bestowing a smile like the sunrise on Gilbert before sweeping up the stairs with the majesty of a queen. 

Gilbert watched her go and then turned back to her aunt and uncle, steeling himself for unpleasantness. 

“So, Mr. Markham,” said Mrs. Maxwell. “Let us not mince words. My niece has told us that you have asked her to marry you, and that she has promised to give you an answer by the end of the summer.” 

The answer, thought Gilbert, had more or less been given, though he thought it would not help to say this to Mrs. Maxwell. “That’s all true, ma’am.” 

“Hmm,” said Mr. Maxwell. 

Mrs. Maxwell sniffed. “She’s a very lovely woman, is she not, our Helen?” 

Gilbert thought this sounded like a snare of a question, but he could only answer truthfully. “The loveliest of my acquaintance,” he said. “And the cleverest and bravest, besides.” 

“Mr. Markham, there are precious few men in this world who appreciate a woman’s cleverness and braveness,” said Mrs. Maxwell coolly. “And a great many who appreciate beauty, and even more her fortune, when it includes a manor that even under dreadful mismanagement produces an income of five thousand pounds a year.” 

Gilbert’s face was heating up again. “She didn’t have five thousand a year when we became friends. She didn’t have twenty pounds when we became friends. I want to marry Helen, not her money.” 

“So said Mr. Huntingdon,” said Mr. Maxwell grimly. 

“If you think I am _anything_ like Huntingdon, you mistake me, sir,” said Gilbert hotly. “Any man who had Helen as his wife and—and treated her cruelly, drank to excess and wasted her money and—and flaunted his indiscretions with other women the way Huntingdon did, he’d have to be the biggest, most ungrateful fool in the world.” 

“No one has accused you of cruelty, Mr. Markham, or of any other vices,” said Mrs. Maxwell. “But it is less than a year since Mr. Huntingdon died. He loved her too, at first, or so he claimed. But her money was certainly no deterrent, and for a farmer with ambitions—” 

“I _have_ no ambitions.” Gilbert hadn’t meant to stand up, but suddenly he was on his feet. “I have done nothing my whole life long but labor honestly for the good of my family. I know that you don’t wish to see Helen hurt. I understand—I don’t wish to see Helen hurt either, but for you to accuse me of using her to better my own position is _intolerable_. You can write your solicitor if you like, draw up papers so I can’t touch the damned money, I don’t care. It’s her I want, and Arthur, not Grassdale. Grassdale can burn to the ground for all I care about the matter.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell looked taken aback at this. Then Mrs. Maxwell said, “Frederick did say you had a hot temper,” and Gilbert could no longer restrain himself from groaning. 

The ride home to Linden-Car was long and unpleasant. Gilbert could not shake the idea that Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell were talking Helen out of marrying him, and that they would be right to do so. Lord knew Gilbert did have a temper. But Helen did, too, and Gilbert had long since realized that he loved her sour as much as he loved her sweet. Helen challenged him, she made him see things differently, she made him see _himself_ differently. Gilbert had always thought he would be content with his farm, marrying a local girl, having tea with his mother and the vicar, talking about the same people and things until he passed the farm on to his children. Helen made him see that there was more to the world, that there was beauty and poetry in it, that there were dark and unnamed dragons that Gilbert had never known of but that women like Helen must be fighting every day. And to think that he might lose her, not because of her husband or because she did not love him but because her aunt and uncle thought he was some kind of money-grubbing little worm, was so painful as to be nearly unbearable. 

For the fortnight Helen was at Grassdale, Gilbert felt like every beautiful sunny day was mocking him, shoving a grand world full of growth and new things into his face only to pull them away with a laugh. Rose said he was being beastly; his mother asked whether he was all right so many times that the words stopped meaning anything. The only beings Gilbert could bear to be around were his flocks and his dog. 

The day that Helen returned, Rose dashed out to announce the news expectantly. Gilbert swallowed. As she had been immersed in the management of a large estate for the past two weeks, Gilbert’s little farm, and his little village with its good-hearted but small-minded people, and his—his sheep, which had gotten into a briar patch and needed to be cleaned in the worst way—were hardly likely to strike Helen as very attractive. 

“I’m glad,” he said in response to Rose’s news, and then he went back to combing out the big ram. 

Rose sighed in exasperation. “You don’t _look_ it. Honestly, Gilbert, what’s gotten _into_ you? Can her aunt and uncle have really been that bad?” 

Gilbert shrugged in response to this, and Rose cast up her eyes as if asking the heavens for guidance. “All right,” she said. “I give up. Sulk if you want to. You always do what you like, anyway.” 

Some hours later, Gilbert had finally managed to comb out the worst of the thorns and twigs from the flock when a familiar voice said, “Rose told me I might find you here.” 

Gilbert looked up. It was Helen, of course it was Helen. “How’s Grassdale?” he asked. 

“Improving, I think,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Affairs had been very badly neglected, but the tenants are all quite reasonable people, and we have all settled on a plan of action that should suit very well.” 

So maybe they’d be able to squeeze another thousand or two out of the estate. Buy themselves another one in Cornwall, maybe—Helen, Arthur, and the Maxwells in a castle by the sea. “Good,” he said shortly. 

“Rose said you were in a temper.” Her solemn eyes searched his. “I can see that you are, though I don’t know why.” 

“I’m not in a temper,” said Gilbert, though he supposed his tone might make it sound as if he were. 

“No, of course not,” said Helen ironically. “Gilbert, something is obviously the matter with you. What is it?” 

“It’s nothing.” Gilbert determinedly shook off his doubts and fears and found a smile for her. “And Arthur and Lancelot, they’re well?” 

Helen continued to look at him gravely. “Very well,” she said. “I found myself amazed by Arthur's good cheer. The last time we were at Grassdale, the whole house was full of gloom and unhappiness, but these past days he was playing on the grounds as happily as if he had never seen the place before. It was…heartening, I think. It helped to banish the shadows from the house. Some of them, anyway.” 

Gilbert abruptly felt that he had been making an ass of himself—God knew that his problems were as nothing compared with what Helen faced, and yet she faced her troubles square-on and unafraid. “It’s as I’ve told you,” he said. “Children are strong. When they’re hurt, they cry for a while but then get up and try again.” 

“Perhaps you’re right.” She was silent for a spell, in which Gilbert found he had nothing to say to improve upon the silence. After her meditation, she said, “My uncle and aunt were very favorably impressed with you.” 

He had to laugh at that. “Me? I think not.” 

“And why not?” She frowned. “My aunt can be stern, I know, but she has the best of hearts, and her only interest is in my happiness.” 

“That’s it, I think,” said Gilbert, kicking at a clod of dirt and feeling very young. “I don’t think she thinks I can make you happy.” 

“I can assure you, Mr. Markham, that if she had truly opposed our match, she would have had no qualms in saying so.” 

Unless she were afraid to send her niece off in anger, after years of separation by a terrible husband, thought Gilbert. “I expect she’d be happier,” he said, “if you were planning to marry a gentleman.” 

After another long silence, Helen spoke again, and the ice in her tone made Gilbert wince. “I suppose by ‘a gentleman,’ you mean a man with self-indulgent habits who has never worked a day in his life.” 

Gilbert shook his head, amazed that he could be so greatly misunderstood. “I mean a man with substance, who’s seen something more of the world than sheep and soil. Someone whose family your aunt and uncle have heard of, someone who moves in their circles.” 

“Every single one of those statements could be applied to my late husband, and let me state in the clearest terms, Mr. Markham, my aunt would _not_ be happy if I were to marry another Arthur Huntingdon of Grassdale Manor.” 

”Oh, you are _determined_ to misunderstand me,” Gilbert said, frustrated. “You know perfectly well what I mean. I love you, Helen. My heart, my hand, my name, and everything I own are yours if you want them. I like my life, and I wish nothing more than to share it with you, but I know that your aunt, your uncle, your brother—none of them think that that life is good enough for you.” _And maybe you agree_ , he didn’t say. _And maybe I agree._

She heaved a sigh, some of the animation leaving her face. “You wrong them, Mr. Markham,” she said in a low voice. “And you wrong me. Do you think I care about your _lineage_ , your yearly income? Do you suppose that if my aunt and uncle did, I would not know my own mind enough to stand strong?” 

“I would never say that,” said Gilbert, abashed. If anyone knew her own mind, it was Helen. 

“I married a ‘gentleman’ once, and he was nothing of the kind, as you know,” Helen continued severely. “And his friends were ‘gentlemen,’ too, and that never stopped them from indulging in the basest of vices and cruelty. Birth and social rank mean nothing compared to one’s character and virtues.” 

Gilbert smiled involuntarily at her, overwhelmed with love and admiration. “I’m inclined to agree, myself.” 

Her face softened just the slightest amount, and she reached for his hand. “You are my _friend_ , Gilbert,” she said. “I can talk with you about art and poetry, or about matters of principle, and you take me seriously rather than as an object of condescension. I admire your farm, and how knowledgeable you are about it.” The hand around his squeezed. “And even if none of that were true, you are teaching my son to be kind to animals rather than cruel, and to love men rather than fear them, and for that alone I would love you. And even if my aunt and uncle and brother did not come to love you for your own sake, trust that they would bear with you for mine.” 

That was the first time, thought Gilbert, that she had ever said that she loved him. If he were to die now, it would be as a happy man. “I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hand back. “It isn’t you I doubt.” 

“No, it isn’t.” She smiled for the first time in the conversation. “I think you’ve been very indulged all your life,” she said. 

“Oh, do you?” said Gilbert, not even remotely offended. There was a playful tone in her voice that she liked. 

“I do,” she said. “You’re not used to having to fight for what you want, so when things get difficult, you think all is lost. But luckily for you….” She drew up onto her toes and pulled him down into a kiss. Pulling back slightly, she grinned at him, her face close enough for him to count every freckle. “I’m perfectly willing to fight for the both of us.” 

Gilbert laughed at that. “Oh, believe me, Helen. I know very well how lucky I am.” 

She gave him a satisfied nod. “Good. I don’t know yet what I want to do about Grassdale—it may yet be that there are too many ghosts there for Arthur and me to stay there. And yet, if we are to remain at Wildfell, there is much to be done. But believe me when I say that the grandness of my dwelling is a matter of complete indifference to me. If I should move into Linden-Car to live with you and your family, I should be perfectly content.” 

“Perfectly content?” asked Gilbert skeptically. “With near-daily visits from Reverend Millward and Jane Wilson?” 

“Well, perhaps not _perfectly_ content,” Helen corrected. “But it would certainly be character-building, and it might be that over time we might grow to understand each other.” 

“And I might sprout wings and fly,” said Gilbert. He curled his fingers around hers, marveling at the warmth of her, how such strength could be concealed in such fine-boned hands. “But I suppose it doesn’t really matter where we live, does it? So long as we’re good to each other, and to Arthur.” 

She smiled, the look in her eyes making something in Gilbert sigh with pleasure. “You’re perfectly right, Gilbert.” Then, to his dismay, she stepped back. “Now come along. Your mother sent me to bring you in to tea, and she’ll be displeased if it gets cold while we’re standing here.” 

“Ugh,” groaned Gilbert. “Who needs tea at a time like this?” 

Helen laughed, her expression impish. “‘Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks, why all this toil and trouble?’ Come and drink your tea and I shall tell you all about my trip to Grassdale.” 

Gilbert grumbled a bit more for show, but he felt sure Helen knew the happiness that was truly in his heart. The sun shone on the grass as they walked back toward the house, and for the first time in weeks, Gilbert felt his spirits lift at the sight.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "Character of the Happy Warrior" by William Wordsworth, and Helen's line, "Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks, why all this toil and trouble?" comes from Wordsworth's "The Tables turned; an Evening Scene, on the same subject." The Reverend Millward's quotation comes from Matthew 19:24. This story is primarily based on the 1996 miniseries, but the names of places and of Helen's aunt and uncle are taken from the novel.


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